


girl crush

by 1000_directions



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bisexual Harry, F/M, First Time, Nipple Piercings, Past Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles, Past Xander Ritz/Harry Styles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: Harry had kissed people before, of course. There were girls when he was younger, but then when he got a bit older, it was all men. This was his first time ever kissing a woman, and he didn’t think it would be different, but it was.





	girl crush

**Author's Note:**

> ???????? I don't know either, but [this (nsfw) picture exists](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/166128008889/ticklefightharry-1000-directions), and what was I supposed to do, NOT write about her?????

Camille knows, of course. It was clear the first time they had kissed, her lips so soft and pliant beneath his, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air before finally setting too high on her ribcage to be her waist, too low on her torso to be her tits. He’d waited for her to fight for control, to push him into place and take what she wanted from him, but she yielded to him so effortlessly, lips parting just the slightest as she breathed his own breath back at him, elegant fingers resting lightly on his shoulders, just waiting. He’d kissed people before, of course. There were girls when he was younger, but then when he got a bit older, it was all men: Nick when he was still trying to figure out what he wanted and just needed some discreet no-strings-attached practice, Xander, Jeff, Louis that one embarrassing time that they  _still_  can’t talk about. But this was his first time ever kissing a  _woman_ , and he didn’t think it would be different, but it was, and she knew. And...Harry’s not ashamed of who he is, he rather likes who he is, he likes the way his own definition of himself can be so pliable and nebulous. He likes himself and he’s not ashamed, but he hasn’t really had to put it into words before, so explaining it to Camille was a little awkward. But he did it, he told her that he kissed a few girls ages ago but he’s only ever been with men sexually, but he  _likes_  her, he’s  _attracted_  to her, he really would like to get his mouth on her and his dick in her, but she’s just going to have to be a little patient and forgiving with him, please, if it’s not too much trouble.

“You can tell me what to do,” Harry had told her. “I  _like_  that.

It was too serious a conversation for how little they knew each other. But she’s a friend of a friend, and Harry trusts his friends, so he trusts her. And she’s fit, she’s so fucking fit, and he doesn’t really want to waste time. He’ll be on tour soon enough. He doesn’t have time to court her, and he doesn’t see the point anyway. She’s nice. She’s pretty. She looks good with her top off, and so does he. He’ll be nice to her after he fucks her. He doesn’t see what else they need to discuss before proceeding.

She had smiled at him, kindly. She’s so fucking kind, and she has freckles on her nose, and one of her eyes is just a little bit bigger than the other, and her body felt soft and warm pressed up against his, and he wanted to fuck her then, and he wants to fuck her now. And he didn’t then, they’d talked a bit, tried kissing a little more, and her mouth was gentle at first and then insistent, and he’d started with his hands low on her hips and finished with one beneath her shirt, fingers grazing her bare stomach, and one gently cupping her clothed breast, and he could feel just the edge of her nipple piercing against the side of his thumb as he kissed her until he was dizzy with it. He didn’t fuck her then, but he thinks he’s probably going to fuck her now, tonight.

The first person Harry had ever had an orgasm with was Nick, back when drunk eighteen year old Harry had shown up at his door in tears, so sure he was attracted to men but not  _sure_  sure, certainly not sure enough to try pulling as a pop star. And Nick had sent him to bed to sleep it off, and when he woke up, there were serious conversations to be had, because Nick didn’t want to take advantage of Harry, didn’t want to lose the friendship. But Nick understood and respected the precarious situation Harry was in, wanted to be useful, wanted to be helpful. So there were kisses, and Harry learned what it felt like to be pushed around a bit, to have his mouth manipulated by someone else’s, someone who knew what they wanted and weren’t afraid to take it. And eventually, just a few times, he learned the weight of Nick’s cock on his tongue, just enough times to feel like he could pull someone without completely humiliating himself. Nick’s a good friend. Nick is a good, good friend.

Xander was the first person Harry fucked, and really the only person he fucked for a long while. It was easy and secret and fun. And fleeting, though it never felt that way at the time.

And now, Camille. Now, freckled and smiling, wearing a soft vest and denim shorts, casual and beautiful and understanding. His for the taking, it seems, if he can just work up the nerve.

He doesn’t want to disappoint her. But if he doesn’t get his mouth on her in the next few minutes, he might fucking die.

“I can see wheels spinning in that head,” she teases him. She takes his hand, laces her fingers in between his. “It’s not difficult,” she says softly. “You don’t have to treat me any special way. You don’t have to be gentle with me. I’m not going to break.”

She squeezes his hand, then releases it. She takes a step back, and he looks at her, just drinks in her lines and curves and slopes, toe to head, head to toe. Her legs stretch for acres, smooth and lightly tanned, thin and strong. She smiles at him, and then she eases up her vest, slowly exposing her flat stomach, her perfect fucking tits, her sharp collarbones. She steps back towards him, hands at her sides, shoulders back and proud, hips swinging lightly with a cocky sort of swagger. She sweeps her hair back and away from her face, looks him in the eye as best she can with his gaze snagged on her nipple piercing.

“Just fuckin’ put your hands on me, Styles,” she says.

He doesn’t even have time to question whether he  _can_  do this before he is, in fact, doing this. He reaches her in two steps and kisses her roughly, hands cupping her face and holding her close. He’s not used to kissing someone so short, unaccustomed to how far he has to lean down to reach her. He’ll feel this in his neck and back tomorrow. Good.  _Good_.

His hands skate lower as he kisses her, settling loosely around her neck just long enough to feel her swallow against his palm, then down to her shoulders, each delicate enough to fit entirely into his hands, tiny little bird bones just below the surface. She says she’s not breakable, but she is, and he wants to touch her like she’s precious at the same time that he wants to push her up against the wall and sink his teeth into her.

She’s softer than he thought she’d be. She’s so thin that he thought she’d be angular, bony, harsh even, but she’s soft everywhere he touches her. He’s barely kissing her now, just panting into her mouth as his hands slip down to her chest. He curiously kneads at her breasts, learning the give of her, how much he can move her before she springs back, how much she can take. She doesn’t stop him, so he doesn’t stop, and when his right thumb flicks at her piercing, she mewls into his mouth, a desperate sound that he swallows down.

He wants his mouth there on the metal, now, he wants it  _now_ , but when he drops down to his knees, an elegant slump he’s pleased to have perfected over the years, he can’t quite reach. But now that he’s down here, he has new skin to explore. He kisses her high on her thigh, right at the hem of her shorts, and she runs her fingers through his hair as he closes his eyes and inhales, just breathes in the heat of her. He doesn’t know quite what he’s going to do when he gets there, but he wants her naked, wants to see her stretched out and beautiful on the bed, so he thumbs open the button on her shorts and pulls them down her legs so that she’s just standing there before him, tall and proud in nothing but simple cotton knickers, while he’s on his knees before her, his cheek pressed to her thigh.

He slowly runs his hand up the inside of her thigh, and the higher he gets, the slower he moves, and it’s almost an eternity before he’s cupping her crotch with his palm. She’s warm everywhere else, but right here she’s hot, and he barely understands what he wants, but he knows he wants his mouth on her, knows he wants to feel her heat right against his tongue, and he’s not sure what she’ll do, if she’ll do anything, doesn’t know if he doing this for her sake or his own, but he leans in a little bit and touches his lips right to the center of her knickers, kisses her gently where she’s warm and just a little wet. She’s trembling slightly beneath the fabric, he can feel her quivering against his mouth, and he carefully eases his tongue against her, swiping roughly at the fabric, and she breathes out a shuddery breath and tightens her fingers in his hair.

He misses the long hair, sometimes, misses how Xander would pull it or pet it or wrap his whole hand up in Harry’s hair. But he likes this, too. He likes her hands so close to his scalp, her fingers closed tight around the strands so she doesn’t lose her grip. She’s got him on a short rein, and he likes it that way.

 “Could you please get on the bed?” he asks her. It’s the first time he’s talked in ages, and his voice sounds foreign to his ears, gravelly and serious. But she listens to him, stepping backwards slowly with her hands still in his hair, one step at a time as he scrambles forward on his knees and just tries to keep up. 

When she reaches the bed, she releases her grip on him and pushes down her knickers in one smooth motion, stepping out of them before sitting on the edge of the bed, lazily, inelegantly, legs slightly splayed.

“Where do you want me?” she’s saying, but he’s distracted by the sight of her, the small patch of dark hair above her pussy, the tiny triangle of paler skin between her tan lines. He quickly, sloppily crawls to her and cups each of her knees with a hand, pushing her legs slightly wider.

“You’re perfect right there,” he says, bringing his face closer to her. He doesn’t...know what he’s going to do when he gets there, he’s making this all up as he goes, just inching closer, breathing her in, sweaty and musky and the hint of something a little floral and sweet. He’s never done this before, he’s literally  _never_  done this before, and she has, and she knows he hasn’t, so there’s no harm in just trying something, no harm in just touching his lips to her, feeling her soft and slick and warm against his curious tongue that always seems to have a mind of its own, falls out of his mouth like a reflex every time he’s hungry for something.

“Oh god,” she says quietly as he softens his tongue and presses it to her, dabbing at her like a sponge. But it’s not enough, he can taste her but he wants to drown in it. He runs his thumb between her lips, gathering all the slick he finds there before sucking it into his mouth, tonguing at the taste of her until it’s all gone, pulling his thumb from his mouth with a pop that sounds  _obscene_  to his ears.

When he looks at her face, her eyes are wide, and her mouth is open, and she’s breathing so heavy that her tits are shaking each time her chest moves. And that’s what he’s wanted all along, really, his mouth up there on that piercing.

“Scoot back a bit and lie down, love,” he says. “Please. If you don’t mind.”

She nods and wordlessly shifts backwards, working her body up the bed with bent knees and elbows, putting her pussy on display in a way that is utilitarian and casual and still somehow arousing to him. Harry is so hard. Truly, he’s at least half hard most of the time anyway, likes the way it makes his dick feel in his pants, likes to always be a little on edge. And besides, there are just so many things that turn him on, a satisfying yoga stretch, a really good cup of coffee, the fit of a well-tailored suit, his girlfriend’s cunt on display as she crabwalks naked up the bed so that he can climb on top of her, still fully clothed, and kiss her gorgeous fucking face, pushing his hard dick into the soft swell of her bare hip.

“I see how you keep looking at it,” she whispers, and he pulls back from her mouth. She’s cupping her own breast, lazily twirling the barbell between two fingers. “You can touch it,” she says with a small sigh, her eyes drifting closed. “Feels good.”

It’s all the invitation he needs to have him inching down her body, covering her hand with his own, pressing his lips right to the piercing, sucking it and her nipple and her fingers all into his mouth. He doesn’t give a fuck, he wants every last bit of her, all crowded inside his mouth. He nips at her fingertip and then gently touches his bottom teeth to her nipple, feeling how she shudders beneath him. She pulls her hand away, and then it’s just his mouth and her breast and nothing else there but the roll of the barbell against his tongue as he plays with it, pushing it side to side, making his mouth small and just  _sucking_ , then pulling back and lazily tonguing at her again.  She’s whining and scratching at his scalp, and she tucks one of her feet inside the wide leg of his trousers, toeing at the hair near his ankles. Each noise he coaxes out of her is a rush. He’s going to take her apart with his mouth and she loves it, and he feels invincible.

He doesn’t realise he’s basically been humping her leg the entire time until he’s suddenly too close, until he’s seconds away from coming and probably can’t do anything about it but tries to anyway, pulling his mouth from her to say, “I can’t, Cam, I’m gonna come,” but she covers his mouth with hers and kisses him fierce and dirty, pushing her hips up into him as she pulls sharply on his hair, and he’s too easy for it, always has been, and he can’t control it as he starts to come, working himself against her hip until he’s spent and sticky and more than a little embarrassed.

“I normally have better control than that,” he says into the silence that seems to stretch on forever. He doesn’t, really. Coming feels good and he likes to do it, and he isn’t much good at holding off.

“You’re fine,” she says, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Her hand slips from his hair and travels down his body, skimming his sweaty shirt, all the way down to his softening dick. She squeezes it, maybe a little too hard, but he likes how that feels, likes the shudder it sends down his spine.

“Sorry,” he says. “Looks like I’ve ruined the fun.”

“Can you go again soon?” she asks. Her hand is still on his dick, gentler now. “Wanted to ride you, maybe. You can get me all worked up while we wait for you to get all worked up.”

“Really?”

“Course,” she says with a smile. She’s really so lovely, and he presses a quick kiss to the freckled tip of her nose. He imagines it for a moment, him on his back, her on top, the strong line of her thighs as she works herself down onto his dick, the way her tits would bounce, the light catching her piercing. Fuck, he wants it.

“I can go again soon,” he says. “Really soon. I swear it.”

“Good to know,” she says with a smile. She cradles his face with her soft, small hands. “Well then, Harry Styles. How do you want me?”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/166135755269/girl-crush-by-1000directions-harry-had-kissed)


End file.
